


Subterfuge

by jamiesfreckles



Category: Dragon Quest Series, Dragon Quest XI
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Teachers, First Kiss, Fluff and Humor, Hero | Luminary is Named Eleven | El (Dragon Quest XI), M/M, Mute Hero | Luminary (Dragon Quest XI), Mutual Pining, Rivalry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2020-12-16 12:24:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21036206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamiesfreckles/pseuds/jamiesfreckles
Summary: Today’s going to be a good day. Erik canfeelit. He bites into a muffin as El strides into the staff room, windswept and late. He’s got that dorky, ugly purple blazer on, a lanyard swinging temptingly over his shirt, and his hair is all over the place.Erik grins. Yeah, it’s going to be a good day.





	Subterfuge

**Author's Note:**

> No warnings except some bad language, I suppose! I hope this bit of silliness brightens your day! <3

Today’s going to be a good day. Erik can feel it. He bites into a muffin to stifle his grin as El strides into the staff room, windswept and late. He’s got that dorky, ugly purple blazer on. Erik wrinkles his nose. He’s never sure whether he wants to take it off so he can see what’s underneath, or take it off so he can burn it. 

“You’re drooling,” Veronica mutters. She’s taken over most of the table in the corner of the staff room, and she keeps elbowing him sharply every time she reachers for a pen to correct an essay. He wants to tell her that she should have done her marking at home, but she kicks him when he’s logical. He’s got to spread the nitpicky insults and jabs out through the day, or _he_ gets jabbed. 

“Can’t drool through a muffin,” Erik manages to say, garbled though the words are, but he still swipes his chin surreptitiously. Veronica snickers. He finishes his bite and watches as El weaves his way through the crowd of lecturers gathered in the break room, soaking up coffee before a mind-numbing day of dealing with stubborn teenagers. El spots him across the room and changes direction, heading straight for their table. His stomach fills with an electric sort of anticipation. The muffin—a blueberry one that he flirted his way into getting for free at the local coffee shop—tastes sweeter the closer El gets. 

“Oh jeez,” Veronica complains, nose-deep in a binder that clearly doesn’t interest her in the slightest, if her glazed eyes are anything to go by. “It’s already starting.”

‘It’ being the incessant back-and-forth he has with El, the physics lecturer with phenomenally pretty hair. And maybe back-and-forth is a bit of an understatement, seeing as they never stop riling each other up for long enough to say a few nice words, but it keeps Erik going. It keeps him alive. And it’s not his fault if he gets away with it more, if most people turn a blind eye to his teasing when he winks their way. Most of the staff love him. He’s likeable, he’s been told. Not that El isn’t. El is very, very likeable, depending on who you ask, but it’s a different kind. El is very quiet, and sticks only to a few of his friends, and sometimes he looks like he has the weight of the world on his shoulders. 

It’s a battle, most days, not to offer to take some of it, but they just don't _do_ that. Erik’s not one for deep conversations or sappy declarations—not that he has anything to declare—so he settles for poking and prodding and sarcasm. 

Erik swallows another bite of muffin just as El reaches their table. In a stunning show of self-preservation, he doesn’t spare a glance for Veronica, who only ever answers in bitingly short sentences or grunts this early in the morning. Instead, he plants both hands on the table, avoiding the spray of papers and half-graded essays littering the surface, and leans in to smile. It’s an unusually placid smile, and it sets Erik on edge immediately.

_“E-R-I-K,”_ El signs, spelling out his name with very little hostility, all gentle hands and soft movements. It was the first thing Erik learned in ESL, his name, because he wanted to know what the pretty guy in the classroom opposite him kept saying whenever they passed in the hall. He’d been a little disappointed to discover it wasn’t _date me,_ but only a little. His name looks so nice in El’s hands. 

“El,” Erik says, leaning back in his seat with a smirk. “Almost thought you weren’t going to make it in today. You’re, what, fifteen minutes late?” 

Usually that at least gets a flicker of irritation in El’s eyes, because it’s not his fault that public transport sucks in this area. But this time he just pulls an apologetic little face, a self-depreciating little smile tugging at his mouth. 

_Missed me that much?_

Erik blinks. Huh? 

_You always keep an eye on when I arrive,_ El signs. _I’m starting to think I’m the only reason you get here so early, so you can watch me walk in._

Erik doesn’t get a chance to say anything before El—he _laughs._ Not a very big laugh, granted, but with enough volume to draw the eye of a few other staff members. Erik stares, stunned. El doesn’t usually laugh, not like that, not bigger than a very quiet, stifled chuckle here and there. And it doesn’t even make sense! His face is all apologetic and his laugh is sweet, but he’s making fun of Erik at the same time. Erik swings forward, letting the front legs of his chair hit the carpet with a dull thud, and clears his throat.

“Uh,” he says. 

_It’s flattering._ El half-turns, giving the room a good look at his face in a way that looks coincidental. There’s a sheepish smile on his face, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. And again, it doesn’t match what he’s saying. His hands face Erik, his language quick and confident. _All the attention, I mean. Really flattering. I don't know how nobody else has noticed how obsessed with me you are._

Erik can feel his face burning. 

They have a _rivalry,_ see, and it’s the only reason why Erik doesn’t mind walking into the college every single day. Life isn’t fun unless he starts his morning by tugging on El’s lanyard and laughing at his consternated glare. It’s not an obsession. But they don’t usually talk about it.

Erik catches the wide-eyed gaze of several body staff members, and he only speaks when they look away hurriedly, picking up empty mugs or flipping through upside-down books. Trying their best to look like they’re not even aware of the conversation, let alone dropping so many eaves there’s barely room to walk. 

“What are you doing?” Erik mutters, trying to keep his voice low. 

El faces him again properly, back straight and expression determined. _Apologising._

...And that’s not how this morning was supposed to go. 

“Apologising?” Erik repeats slowly, louder than he means to. He lowers his muffin. “To me?”

He glances at Veronica, but she’s not paying any attention. The red ink on her lip travels upwards with a slight smirk though.

El laughs again. He whips his head around to stare, mouth flapping open. It’s such an unexpected, beautiful sound that Erik has trouble finding his tongue for a minute. And it’s not just him, he realises, glancing around at the red cheeks of his fellow faculty. Even the hard-eyed receptionist that never stops slamming the phone down seems to melt at the sound, adjusting her glasses. 

_To you,_ El confirms. 

Veronica snorts softly, her nose still buried in her binder. 

“Tell me the truth. Did I get hit by a car in the parking lot? Only I think I might have died on the way in, to be honest,” Erik says, “because this feels an awful lot like the twilight zone. Know anything about alternate dimensions?”

Someone tuts from the worn couch near the coffee cart. _Tuts_. At _him._ Erik cranes his neck to see over Veronica’s red hoodie and stares in disbelief at the receptionist, of all people. She glares back at him the same way she glares at any unscheduled paperwork on her desk, and he finds himself sinking back in his seat. God, he hopes he doesn’t have to do any admin work later, or he’ll be found stuffed in her precious filing cabinet under ‘A’ for ‘Asshole.’ 

It’s not just her, he realises, when El hangs his head like a kicked puppy and he spots a few other staff members muttering over near the pigeonholes. It’s everyone. The whole staff room is rebelling against him, and it’s El’s fault. 

_You really are a bit of a c-o-c-k, you know,_ El signs, stepping back with a miserable sigh that seems to echo. His eyes glint with mischief. 

Erik puts his muffin down, stunned silent. This is _serious._ With the way El’s turned, nobody else can see what he’s signing except for Veronica, and she obviously couldn’t care less. But they _can_ see his body language, and hear his beautiful laughter, and they can sure as hell hear what Erik’s saying. 

It is time, he decides, for some severe damage control. 

Erik puts on his most charming smile. “So, you were apologising for something? I can’t imagine what for, unless you’ve swapped the sugar for salt again.” He taps the side of his mug, still full of hot coffee, and winks. “Thanks, by the way. Looking at you that morning was sweet enough, so you saved me a cavity or two.”

That morning had sucked, actually. He’d spat out a perfectly good cup of ruined coffee and walked into his lecture with a massive brown stain all over his shirt, and the memory of El’s quiet smirk had made it hard to press the buttons on the slideshow, let alone actually teach his students something useful. But the lie works. He feels a surge of triumph when El’s hands falter slightly, and his brow creases up. His ears are red too, which is just a bonus, really. He gets a thrill every time he manages to fluster El, and he’s quite fine with not examining that any further, thanks Veronica. 

But then El ducks his head, looking up at him from under his lashes, and rubs the back of his neck rather awkwardly. There’s something about that _aw shucks_ expression that makes Erik want to grab the bubble-wrap and a big bowl of soup, something that screams at Erik that he needs protecting. 

But the true genius of the movement is timing. One of the TA’s, a woman with a heavy southern drawl, a sweet reputation and a mound of blonde curls, coos as she passes the table. She pats El on the shoulder, dimpling widely, and says, loud enough for everyone in the whole damn college to hear, “Aw, honey. You’re a shy one, ain’t’cha? Is he bothering you?”

El shakes his head gently, another awkward, stunning laugh falling from his lips. Erik seizes the muffin, but doesn’t throw it yet. That’s not likely to win him any favours. 

“Don't harass him, Erik,” the TA says, all sticky-sweet smiles and lethal scolding. “Keep your grabby hands to yourself, you hear me? I’ve seen the way you treat those muffins. This boy deserves a gentleman.”

And she pats El’s cheek before leaving, conferring with several staff members on her way out. 

El drops his hand, looks up at Erik through his lashes, and grins like the cat that got the cream. 

The muffin suffers under his sudden muscle-spasm, mushed beneath his fist. Erik grits his teeth. El adopts a surprised look, holding up a finger as if to say ‘hold on a minute!’ before diving into his bag. There’s a lot of rummaging, and Erik presses his advantage while he can—the hags on the couch are practically oozing hearts all over the place, and he’s running out of time. 

“Help me,” Erik hisses quietly, out of the corner of his mouth. “I’ll buy you something. Coffee. A new weapon. And one of those donut things you like.”

Veronica emerges from her work carefully, tapping her pen thoughtfully against her lip. She takes an achingly long time just to piss him off, before shrugging. “I’ve not got a better offer, so yeah. Okay.”

El taps the table gently, getting their attention. Erik leans forward in the chair to grab the piece of paper pushed towards him, snatching it up.

“What’s this?” Erik says, shaking it out but not quite looking at the words yet. 

“Hmm.” Veronica peers over his shoulder, but he very much doubts she’s looking either. “Looks pretty dodgy to me. And foul-mouthed too. Gosh, El, for a teacher you sure do know a lot of awful words.”

Erik hides a grin. Another tap on the table draws their attention away from the paper, and he catches El’s placid smile just a minute before he slides something along the length of the table. Erik’s heart sinks. It’s a very slow slide, and with each passing second, Erik can feel his chances of victory slip further and further away. 

“My mistake,” Veronica says, snatching up the gift card with a cheerful grin. “Oh, wow! This is for that really fancy coffee shop, isn’t it? The one up the street that sells all kinds of donuts?”

El nods. Then he spells out S-E-R-E-N-A carefully, answering the question Erik didn't want to ask, and adding another name to Erik’s shit-list this morning. Not that he’d ever even approach Serena with anything other than a smile on his face and a gift in his hands, because she might be sly on the sidelines, but she’s also the sweetest creature on earth. But mentally, she is dead to him. 

Veronica makes a noise of understanding, pocketing the gift card with a wink. “Well, go on then, Erik! Read your apology! It looks like El spent a lot of time on it!” 

“I’m hanging out with Sylv at lunch,” Erik mutters. “That should tell you where you rank in our friendship circle right now.”

Sylv is bubbly, fond of colours, and so sweet he makes sugar shudder. He’s also a complete bitch, and he makes Erik pay for drinks no matter whose turn it is. 

Veronica just laughs at him. 

He turns back to the paper again. It’s a fairly ordinary piece of paper, with a short block of text printed at the top, and two signatures scrawled along the bottom. He squints, and then, when the words sink in, he gapes. 

“You’re giving me lecture room eleven?” Erik demands, staring at El over the top of the paper. 

And damn it, he shouldn’t have said it that loudly, but it’s a big deal. A really big deal. There’s a small gasp from several of the staff members, and an admiring head-nod from one of the deputy heads, and the woman who leads the college counselling sessions lets out a soft ‘aww.’ 

El shrugs, nodding. As though it’s not a big deal. As though their whole rivalry hasn’t hinged on the fact that they teach on the same floor, in the same corridor, and El’s always had the best lecture hall. Lecture hall eleven, with the comfortable chairs and the central heating that actually works, and the windows that open and shut without getting a crowbar involved. The Internet in there works faster than the Internet at fucking NASA. Behind those four walls is an oasis of teaching, and Erik was beaten to the punch by the guy who arrives fifteen minutes late to work every day and once apologised to a door that he walked into. And then he couldn’t even be that mad about it, really, because El is pretty and nice and sometimes still gives out stickers. But it’s still always nagged at him. 

“But that means you get lecture hall ten,” Erik says, still stuck on the same record. His brain’s not quite working, and it has everything to do with this weird fucking morning and nothing to do with El’s soft little smile. 

Lecture hall ten is colder than the Arctic, and the broken, cracked projector sounds a bit like a squeaky wheel on a hyperactive kids’ tricycle, pushed to the limit. A pigeon got in once, and Erik just sort of had to deal with it. 

El nods, seemingly unbothered. 

“But,” Erik splutters, putting the paper down near his muffin. “But—why?”

And this is where El changes the tune again. Because instead of that mischievous stare, he blushes, ever so slightly, on the apples of his cheeks. And then he shrugs, pointing to Veronica before signing. 

_I told you. It’s an apology. You’re a good teacher, and you deserve it. And I would like it if you weren’t mad at me from now on._

Erik doesn’t need anyone to translate for him, but Veronica does it anyway, just for the benefit of the rest of the room, though she manages to make it seem like she’s just concentrating on understanding the words. Sneaky, terrible gremlin that she is. 

And that’s it. The game is over. If they hadn’t been in love with El before now, then that little speech cinched it for the rest of the faculty. 

The bell rings, then. Erik jolts in his seat, unaware that so much time had passed, and has to duck when Veronica launches out of her chair, cursing as she waves her arms wildly. He stays exactly where he is while she sweeps her belongings into her bag. A few people pat El on the shoulder as they pass, and some of them give Erik warning looks, but he ignores them. 

“Thanks for the gift card, good luck with the moron, okay, bye,” Veronica says, speaking as swiftly as she walks, which is very, very swift. She blurs on her way out of the room. Erik flips off her retreating back. 

Then he catches El’s curious gaze and flushes. 

Erik waits for most of the staff to leave before he snags El’s bag, holding it captive across the table. El blinks at him, confused, but Erik shakes his head. And waits. 

When the staff room is empty, Erik surges up out of his seat and rounds the table, waving the bit of paper around in El’s face. 

“Okay, you got me. That was all pretty smart. Make it look like I’m the asshole while you secretly call me a cock.” He points down at El’s hands, where he’s twisting them in his horrible blazer. “Very clever. And it worked too. But I don't get this stuff, the stuff about the lecture hall.”

El goes pink. He tucks his hair behind his ear, catching Erik off-guard with the soft, gentle motion; he ends up staring, in a way that’s probably not at all subtle, and only adds to the pinkish hue. 

_I meant it._

“Seriously?” Erik puts the form on the table, baffled. “Why?”

_Like I said, you’re a good teacher. And you should have the good lecture hall. The subterfuge was Serena’s idea. She’s very invested in our arguments, and she wanted me to win for once._

Erik snorts. Subterfuge. Who says subterfuge? But then his brain catches on something, and he stops, frowning. 

“Wait, arguments?” 

_Yes,_ El signs hesitantly. _Like the ones about me being late, and you being a better teacher, and how you always poke fun at my clothes and hair. And your nicknames. And when you try and trip me or argue about physics. Those arguments?_

“It sounds really bad when you put it all together like that.” It’s a slow-dawning sort of realisation, and not one that Erik particularly enjoys having. “Oh, God. Earlier, you said you didn't want me to be mad at you anymore. That was just a sympathy thing, right? You wanted Veronica to say it so that everyone felt bad for you?”

El shakes his head very slowly. Then tips it to the side. _S-E-R-E-N-A said to lay it on thick, and I thought I might as well tell the truth at the same time. Why?_

Erik groans. Very loudly. His face feels hot and his stomach twists. Then he covers his face with his hands, and speaks through his fingers, muffled. “Shit, I’m sorry. I’m not actually mad at you. I never was. It’s—I thought it was a rivalry thing. You know, like friendly competition?”

Fingers wrap around his wrist, tugging his hands away from his face. El has an incredulous grin on his face when Erik dares to peek, and it makes him groan again. 

“Look, I don’t say this a lot, but I really am sorry,” Erik says. 

_I didn’t mind too much. It was nice, always being stopped in the hallway, even though you usually looked grumpy. But if you weren’t mad, then… Why?_

Erik grimaces. He shrugs. He goes through several stages of grief before sighing, giving in fairly easily because El still has one of his hands wrapped around Erik’s wrists, and he likes the feel of it. His palm is warm, steady. It makes his heart thump. 

“You ever heard of pig-tail pulling?” Erik says, deadpan. Then he reaches out and tugs on El’s lanyard, twice, pointedly. 

El squeaks. The colour on his cheeks can no longer fairly be called pink, not with how bright it is. 

“Oh, hell,” Erik says, fully prepared to apologise, pack up his things, and hand himself over to the receptionist’s tender mercies. “Look, I’m—”

But El uses the hand wrapped around his wrist to pull him in, and the lanyard digs into his chest when they press close together. Erik swallows his own squeak as those bright eyes get closer. When El kisses him, clumsily at first, but with growing eagerness, he inhales sharply and sinks into it. He finds his eyes fluttering shut, and his pulse races, and he’s absolutely sure that he tastes like blueberry muffin, but El doesn’t seem to be complaining, so he pushes it out of his mind. And soon he’s not thinking of anything but the way their mouths fit together, and the way El stutters out a breath against his mouth, and how warm and soft his lips are. 

When they finally stop kissing, Erik draws away with a harsh breath, and finds that he has both hands wrapped in the lapels of that awful purple blazer. It’s not that bad when you’re this close up, he tells himself, blinking rapidly. 

“So the rivalry didn't scare you off, huh?” Erik says, voice hoarse. 

El shakes his head, smiling. His mouth is a bit red. He lets go of Erik for long enough to sign, _I don't have another gift card, but do you want to go for coffee? After class?_

“Yeah,” Erik says quickly, far too quickly. Then, with a horrible sinking feeling, “After class. After—shit!”

El jerks back. They look at the clock on the wall, and then back at each other, wide-eyed. Ten minutes late. Another five, and there won’t be a class left to teach. Erik curses, snatching up his bag and jacket and abandoning the last of his muffin as he sprints out of the staff room, only halting outside the door when he realised El isn’t quite keeping up. But then he’s there, still red-mouthed and awfully tempting, and Erik has to force himself to move. Both of them power-walk down the corridor, dodging fussy students and other late faculty members. Rab, who patrols the halls far more than a faculty leader really _needs_ to, will know if they start running. He’ll just know. 

“So, coffee?” Erik checks, just outside of his classroom. 

El is breathing fairly hard, and Erik isn’t much better. But he breathes a little easier when El smiles prettily and nods, tucking his hair behind his ear again. 

“Cool. Great.” Erik walks backwards into his class, grinning, and then pauses with the door half-open. He can hear his class chattering inside, and the slight groan when they spot his blue hair. But he ignores them, frowning as he pats his pocket. “Hang on. Shit, I left my paper behind. Have you got a spare copy?”

El pauses too, eyebrows raised innocently. _What paper?_

“You know exactly what paper I mean,” Erik says, with a pointed look at the faded number ten printed on his door. “The form you signed that gets me out of this hellhole. That still counts, right? You signed it, so it must count.”

_No idea what you’re talking about,_ El signs, smiling as he backs into the lecture hall eleven. A wave of warmth sweeps out the open door, but it does nothing to quell his sudden incredulous rage. _See you for coffee, E-R-I-K. I can’t wait._

He laughs so sweetly that Erik almost—_almost_—doesn’t notice the bit of hastily-folded, blueberry-stained paper sticking out of the pocket of that ugly, purple blazer. 

The door swings shut. Erik scowls at the number eleven, glancing down at his watch. Four hours til his classes are over, and he can get that paper back _and_ woo El over coffee. 

But for now he sags against the doorway of the world’s shittiest lecture hall and says, “I should have burned that fucking blazer.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Feel free to say hello! <3


End file.
